


The Slighted Wolf

by TheTiredWriter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And everyone is highkey done with his shit, Bad Decisions, Buddhism, Hanzo is lowkey an asshole, Hurt, I think I need a proof reader, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Reconciliation, Siblings fight a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTiredWriter/pseuds/TheTiredWriter
Summary: An incomplete series of drabbles that I one day hope to make into a cohesive story. Mature themes will appear gradually.





	1. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things never change from the time we're young to the days in which we age, and sometimes that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a very soft tone for the Shimada brothers. When speaking Japanese italics are used.
> 
> Enjoy!

  
_"Brother, I'm sick!"_

_"No, you are just tired."_

The boy continued to whine. _"But my throat hurts..."_

    Though his complaint was vague, and wholly devoid of any real ache, Hanzo felt himself turning his head to better look at his brother. Genji lay hastily wrapped up in mother's favorite blanket, his head and feet poking out of their cherry blossom cover. Hanzo moved close to the boy and squatted down so that he may place the back of his hand against the flat of Genji's forehead. He felt no burning sensation that would allow a supposedly sore throat to accompany a fever, and he detected no similar suspect of rosy cheeks, but he was inclined to treat the _"illness"_ anyhow.

"I will make you tea." 

"Thank you."

    Genji's smile was quick to rise, giving away his guilty conscious. Hanzo presumed he was seeking attention. So, while his eyes narrowed, he too smiled back.

"You are welcome."

o o o

     _"Brother..."_ Genji's voice came from Hanzo's chambers, both quiet and powerful. It held another... something. An innocent calling that neither had heard in too long of a time.

"Genji, what are you-"

    Face, unmasked. Head and feet bare, and a body covered in patterned blanket. Hanzo was ashamed to realize he had never noticed the resemblance it bore to his mother's. Though... he never saw the importance of looking. Nothing lasted forever; attachments to items invited obsession. Hanzo always thought such attention to _things_ was for lesser people. But the unwavering loyalty towards the newfound life of his brother? That was the the greatest obsession of all.

A blossom of warmth.

A rose unfurling over pointed cheeks.

A soft silence. 

A whisper of wind through the reeds.

_"I'm sick."_

_"No,"_ Hanzo's voice wavered, _"you are just tired."_

A hidden smile.

_"But my throat hurts... "_

    Hanzo padded over so he could sit down next to the outline of Genji's leg, leaning so that he could once again press the back of his hand to scarred skin. This time it felt warm to his touch. Hanzo presumed it was from emotion.

"I will make you tea."

The man did not move.

"Thank you."

    Genji's small smile, having already appeared before the assumed speech, quivered under its maintenance. Hanzo's watering eyes narrowed, his own smile too eager to broaden.

"You are welcome."

o o o

    On gold silk laid a single photograph, neatly placed. Soft fingers plucked the treasure, touching only the corners, and held close to a bare chest. Soft eyes refused to allow another's observation. Gentle fingers smoothed over the perfect chicken-scratch lined across the bottom of the memory:

_"Now you got somethin'_  
_to fill that empty frame_  
_on your bed table."  
  _\- M._ _

    From the bookshelf, Hanzo took the Sparrow feather and laid it across the photograph. He swept from the wood to better reach the old gift of the obsidian frame. The back protection was removed to properly nest the photograph against the glass, with his single feather lined across the bottom. Before Hanzo sealed the memory inside its palace he was able to squint at the final word printed neatly across the back.

In red ink: **Redemption.**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking a peek, y'all! Any comments or criticisms are more than welcome! 
> 
>  
> 
> _P.S. - The photograph is from McCree_


	2. Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree is a big baby, Lena is a wee bab I'd like to comfort 5ever, and Hanzo actually has a heart.
> 
> Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The McHanzo here is a predated relationship. Seeing as how this is a series of small stories I thought it would make sense. Still working to make it all into separate chapters, but, don't forget, these all relate somehow!
> 
> PG rating. Enjoy!

  
_"Do not sleep facing north."_  


    Hanzo was quick to take in the account of McCree's room as he set his bag of medicinal herbs and ointments on the desk near the corner, caught between horrified and charmed. The place was... _oddly_ decorated. Very Western, Hanzo noted. It held posters of Old Westerns, a strange wooden nickel collection, and the man's prized signed photograph of Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday.

Hanzo has yet to see Tombstone.

He isn't sure he wants to.

    "What about cats?" The voice comes deep from the head shaped crater of McCree's pillow, rough with sleep and a minor cold. Hanzo tries not to smile. He fails. He cannot help it. He finds comfort in the tone of the other man's slow, country drawl. It brings him a peace Hanzo once thought he could not afford.

    Jesse rises soon after, muscles in his back and arms rolling and tightening with the movement. The wool blanket falls down from the man's back, creating a line for curious eyes to follow. The sensual curve of a spine leads down to the scantily covered swell of a tan backside, where Hanzo averts his gaze so that he may observe the back of the man's head instead, taking note of the wild knot of messy hair. He thinks of McCree tossing at night, and briefly wonders if Jesse, much like himself, often dreamt of bad things.

He hoped he did not.

"I said," Hanzo reiterated, "that it is bad luck to sleep facing this way."

    "An' _what way,_ pray tell, are you goin' on about?" McCree twisted his upper body so that he could squint at Hanzo out the corner of his eye. "You mean North? Been sleeping like this my whole life, and ain't nothin' bad ever came out of it. Well," he tapped a metal finger against the bedsheet, "maybe this'un, but I like it." He grunted as he lowered himself back down onto his stomach, left cheek smooshed against his pillow. "What did y'bring?"

    It took a moment for Hanzo to remember his motive for entering the room, but quickly recovered with quick hands and quicker feet. He took the plastic handles with one hand while he pulled out a homemade ointment with the other. "For your headaches." He set it on the night table. "And this," a wooden box of herbs and tea leaves, "for your throat and your stomach." He set _that_ next to the small bottle of cream, just behind the edge of the stand.

"M'goin' to Ziegler later."

Hanzo gave a _'hmph.'_  


    "She cannot do what my ancestors have done. Try this," Hanzo laid an index finger over the ointment, "on your forehead. Use these," His thumb on the wooden box, "for your tea. Your body will feel better."

"Cross yer heart'n hope to die?"

Hanzo contemplated.

"Cross my heart."

o o o

    Dinner that night was a quiet affair. The two general loudmouths of their merry band of idiots were uncharacteristically  _reserved._ One was a conflict Hanzo knew, the other was one he was unsure about, and he wasn't going to ask. Sharp eyes observed Lena over the display of his plate, chopsticks idly picking up a piece of chicken so that he may simply drop it back onto his setting again. 

Cat and mouse. 

    Lena was absent for many things. Topics of conversation seemed to pass by her unnoticed. She seldom allowed herself to eat, much less  _chew_ the food she'd managed to get inside her mouth. Her smiles, no matter how small, were always forced, and her leg shook beneath the table. McCree was beside her, eating with one hand, and attempting to still her restlessness with the other. 

Hanzo tilted his head.

McCree nodded his own.

Tracer only managed a small smile.

A silent _thank you._  


    From across the way the Shimada clenched his jaw and mouthed the standard _welcome,_ too familiar with that sense of _loss._ It must have been the anniversary of the poor woman's death. There is no other option. There is no other excuse. Brown eyes scanned the length of the hall, targeting the individual in which they'd hoped to find. Genji was seated just next to Morrison, his mask off to make room for his soup bowl.

Today was not _that_ anniversary.

Today was just another reminder.

 

o o o 

    The nightly arrangements for sleeping were done slowly. Hanzo was the one to tend to McCree through fits of coughing, wheezing, and his general distaste for honey and ginger tea. When he set Jesse down in a chair so that he could move the bed in a different direction he could feel McCree's eyes roaming over places it _shouldn't have been._ It was only when Hanzo thought to speak that the attention waned.

"How is the medicine?"

    The Cowboy only scrunched his nose, absently wiping at his forehead without reply. He looked exhausted and pale. His shirt was removed 30 minutes prior to Hanzo's redecorating, and it had since then acquired a thin sheet of sweat. The fever would be gone within the next few days. Its final stages were a pathetic struggle, at best. The archer watched it rise with a wet inhale and watched it fall with hoarse speech.

"I haven't tried it yet."

A blatant lie. 

A man who knew better. 

    Hanzo smoothed out the wrinkles in the blanket, back momentarily facing the other's front before he turned, his arms extending so that his hands could grip the armrests, bracing his body just above McCree. "I have more for you to try. They are what I used to make for Genji when he was a boy. Now that I have you, I have something to care for." And if Hanzo smelled mint at McCree's brow when the man leaned up to kiss him he didn't say anything.


	3. Cherry Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories from the past tell a story of lives long left suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A filler from the shared Shimada childhood.
> 
> Also, cherry blossoms are symbolic for the fleeting nature of life for the brothers, as well as their mother. I also use it to give an offhanded symbolism for the beauty I perceive lady Shimada to have. :-)

_// "Hanzo, you know the story of the Okami, yes?"_

  
_The boy stopped himself from feeding the wooden spoon into Genji's hungry mouth, steady hand frozen beneath the weight of a mother's harmless questioning. Hanzo did not answer for a moment, rather he stared into a gaping, toothless maw so eerily trained to yawn in the presence of a giving hand._  


  
_"Which one?"_  


     _"Any of them." A paper hand unfolded, it's smooth edges brushing over the spit-slick lower lip of a growing toddler, soaking up drool with an aged patience. "Those of the wolf and his sparrow? Of the benevolence of the creature? The legends of his kindness?" She set her kerchief down, half folded, on the silk at her knee and proceeded to lay her hands in her lap._

_Hanzo resumed his task, flinching minutely as small, angry fists upheaved a glob of soft food and stuck it to Hanzo's bare cheek. He managed to remain stoic beside the amused giggles of his mother and his brother alike, determined to fulfill his duty as the one responsible for sating the young one's appetite. His answer, once finally given, was short and delayed._

  
_"Yes."_  


     _"You, Hanzo," she reached to sweep the mush from his face, "are the wolf. You are neither good nor evil. Your actions cater to the actions of other people. Use your judgement to do what is right, and let your Sparrow be your guide. Let it scout ahead, but_ always _seek his return. Both are solitary creatures, and one without the other leaves them lost. Their purposes are similar to the other. Each symbolizes different aspects in life, which is what makes them the greatest pair. Do not try to force the bird to be like the beast, because it is not something the_ bird _would do. Learn to live in harmony."_

  
_She cleaned her thumb on the kerchief._  


  
_It looked of cherry blossoms._  


  
_"Or you will learn to suffer."_ //

o o o 

    Hanzo was 12 when mother died. Genji was just 9; a sheltered boy compared to a brother so ruthlessly hardened. Where Hanzo threw himself into his training and his studies, Genji played through to his future. The destiny that had once lay ahead no longer held pride or status. Hard work became laziness. Obedience became defiance under the teachings of Japan's greatest instructors. The two had different ways of coping.

Both would bring destruction.

o o o 

    Genji was 16 when Hanzo caught him in _his_ bed with a man and a woman. Hanzo was 19 when he threatened to take life and limb with sharp teeth and cold eyes. His hand was tight around Genji's wrist when he yelled for them to leave _their_ home. Genji's voice, a bell rung against the silence, was all that lead them to the door.

He was still a Sparrow.

He would never be a Wolf.

o o o 

    Hanzo was 22 when Genji came home late after a night of partying. Genji was 19 when he was too drunk to stand without the gentle touch of his brother. Hanzo was barely a man when he forced to see the aftermath of somebody's greed written over the other's skin. Genji was still a boy when he was robbed of his right to choose with sharp teeth and cold eyes.

Genji was still his Sparrow.

Hanzo was still his Wolf.

o o o 

    Genji was 22 when he found out that Hanzo had sought revenge for the scars buried deep beneath his own skin. Hanzo was 25 when he re-read the fairytales his mother told him. He was no longer the benevolent, guiding force. He would be malicious. Hanzo would be the animal that men learned to fear. He would do as he had been raised to do.

He would strike, never seen, never heard.

The assassin his father always wanted.

o o o 

    Only 26 when Hanzo vowed to never touch a blade again in his waking life. Only 23 when Genji was left, barely breathing, on the floor of his own home. Both men beyond torn. Hanzo, heartbroken, bitter. Genji, dying, betrayed. Anger fueled their motivations.

26 when Hanzo abandoned his empire.

23 when Genji was reborn.

The Sparrow and the Wolf.

Lonely creatures on the run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double slashes indicate a childhood memory. 
> 
> Please let me know if there's any inconsistencies in the writing so I can fix it!


	4. Chopsticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An innocent frustration can sometimes make way for a bad omen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all don't even know how much I researched Japanese superstitions and stuff.
> 
> I love it.

    Chopsticks were, quite possibly, Hanzo's favorite utensil. They served a great many purposes. Some were tied to a more unfortunate fate, and others were for the simple, mundane task. They were an easy thing to use, but a surprisingly hard thing to master.

Especially for McCree.

    For him it was a source of neverending frustration. Hanzo supplied him with a box of cheap wooden chopsticks often given at Asian style restaurants and fast-food chains, taught him how to hold them, and set him to work. His grip was often too strong to keep the pieces intact. His hands burned with the fire of his temper. His want to learn quick to flee. McCree would not listen when the heat reached his ears. He was stubborn. He was far more independent than he needed to be. He would not calm at Hanzo's touch. He would not still with gentle words and soft hands.

The Stallion.

The Wolf.

    Where Hanzo prodded, Jesse bucked. He would huff, a violent shake of wild hair and a cruel snap of perfect teeth. A dangerous coil of muscle beneath sun-washed skin threatened to whip practiced fingers as each touch wound him tighter. Every quiet reminder, every polite remark, gave McCree the fuel to buck. When his patience wore thin and his supply dwindled his aim found two wooden sticks, stuck ends up, in a bowl of hardly eaten food, his chair flipped on its back.

Hanzo was quick to remove the omen.

Death could not come.

Their luck could not turn sour.

Not again.

  
_Never again._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to figure out how all of these are going to tie together into a story. If anybody has any suggestions that would be great :)


	5. Hanamura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo returns home to honor the death of his father, but the memories he stirs rekindles the fire he'd left forgotten in his brother's throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lame Dragon reference is lame. Arguments ensue. Hanzo is definitely an asshole.
> 
> Phrases said in Japanese by the Shimadas are in italics.
> 
> Japanese translations are at the end!

Hanamura was once a comforting place.

    Both young Shimada's once played here. Both learned to love here, and here was where they met their ends. Their beginnings led them elsewhere, yet they returned in search of something different. Hanzo silently prayed they would find it.

_"How are you, brother?"_

_"I am fine, thank you.."_

"Hanzo," Genji pressed, _"what's going on?"_

    Hanzo did not wish to answer. He knew that his brother only wanted to spend time with him, to return to the moments when conversation wasn't full of awkward silences and forced smiles. Genji was attempting to mend his broken bridge, and Hanzo was wont to burn it.

"Nothing."

    Being back in their home brought back many memories that threatened to tear at the delicate boundary set in Hanzo's own mind. Those were all he managed to save from the war he'd unleashed on his own flesh and blood, and he could not bear to taint them with fresh anger. Standing barefoot on the floor of father's old bedchambers did nothing to alleviate the ache of regret. His old decorations still hung from the walls, untouched. Many pictures of bright smiles and crinkled eyes laughed in his face. A painting of mother mocked him from above father's bed, her gentle smile now a sneer, her soft eyes now narrowed in disgust.

It was all their fault.

What _brothers_ they had been.

"Hanzo," Genji proceeded, "it should not be my place alone to console you on the eve of father's passing. It has been eleven years. You cannot continue this way."

    McCree was nearby, possibly observing from the doorway, possibly leaning along the banister out on the balcony so he may eavesdrop _'politely.'_ Hanzo did not know. He had brought him at the man's constant pleading, but now had no desire to see him. His mood had turned sour, and so had his tongue. He wanted to spare him of his own temper.

Genji had not the same luck.

" _I_ did not _ask_ you to."

Patience.

"No, but your _partner_ is here to accompany you. It is his same duty to-"

    "As it was _your_ duty?! _You_ were not there when father finally let go nine years after mother's passing. _You_ were not there when father stopped eating. _You_ were not there when father fell ill. _You_ were _not there_ when father died, holding the hand of one son and wishing to hold the hands of both. _You,_ " Hanzo whirled around to face his brother, "were not there to pass his bones! You were not there to wish him a bountiful reincarnation! You were busy dishonoring our family! You threw us away for _nothing!_ "

_"You've got to be kidding me-_ So you instead _replaced me_ with a loud, ignorant, foolish-"

_"That is enough!"_

"-ungrateful criminal!"

"You forget, _little brother,_ that we were _born_ criminals."

"But we are no longer!"

    "Because of _you!_ We were to be the head of the _proudest_ empire in all of Japan! Your _foolishness_ destroyed it all! _You are equally responsible!"_

_"Go to hell!"_

    Hanzo tossed his head, an angered flick of a gold, silk ribbon mirrored the tense set of broad shoulders and a puffed chest. His teeth bared themselves in a snarl as a fire followed the black smoke the billowed from the column of his throat. _"Think, Genji!"_ Silently he wished for this to end, but both were too deep in the water into which they'd waded, and the hands of the secrets long left dead held their ankles with the intent to drown them both. There was little else to do but fight. "If you had not been so rebellious I could have taken you home. You would not be this way!"

" _You_ made me this way!"

"You would have been killed otherwise!"

"And I would rather be dead."

A slap to the face.

    "It would have been better than watching my brother pretend to be the man our father was. It would have been _better_ than looking into _mother's eyes_ as you unleashed your anger on the only family you had left. You do not know compassion, brother. You will only serve to do the same to McCree, because you are _afraid._ Your fear is master."

_"That is none of your business!"_

Genji hummed, _"As I thought."_

    The two stood, one facing the other, neither daring to budge. Hanzo had forgotten the blade disguised as his brother's tongue, more so the wounds it easily inflicted. The reminder of mother's features that cursed Hanzo's visage served only to stab the scarred muscle of Hanzo's heart. How could he kill the boy he had once raised? _He_ had betrayed mother's wish, and he had been returned with a permanent reminder that wore the face of brown eyes and burnt skin.

The lonely Sparrow and the slighted Wolf.

Clipped wings.

A broken heart.

    It was only when McCree stepped into the room that the quiet war between the Shimada's temporarily ceased. "I ain't interruptin' somethin', am I?" His deep voice like honey, his hands two white flags, waving. Each click of spurred heels ticked at Hanzo's winding clock. When his answer was given it was not to a man with wild hair and loving eyes.

"I am _not_ afraid."

_"Kitté Gokuraku, mité Jigoku." [1]_

"Rumor it is _not!_ "

     _"Zen ni wa zen no mukui; aku ni wa aku no mukui." [2]_ What is it you have not done, Hanzo? Clearly I have forgiven you, but you are still consumed by the guilt of your secrets. You cannot expect a man like McCree to stay with one so troubled; He cannot love a man who cannot love himself."

_"Shut up..."_

    Hanzo could no longer argue. He could no longer offer the words he once thought he needed to defend his broken honor. Surely father would be proud to see Genji reduce his elder sibling to _nothing._ While they no longer served under the title of assassins, their words were poison enough to kill the strongest of men. Hanzo did not look at Genji as he left, his gaze instead lingered on leather boots and a clenched fist.

"Well now, is all that _not talkin'_ just another way of sayin' you _don't_ love me?"

" _No._ "

"So what _are_ y'sayin'?"

Hanzo was quiet.

"So you _don't know?_ "

There was no answer.

    An annoyed 'tch' escaped chapped lips, and then McCree let himself showcase a bitter smile. His eyes turned to focus on a portrait of long black hair and warm chocolate eyes. "You look like 'er," Jesse tried to shift the attention off his _hurt_ , "y'got the same smile, same look. Same eyes."

"McCree."

Hanzo was ignored.

_"Jesse."_

Again, nothing.

_"I love you."_

    McCree squinted, a mean curl of his upper lip signifying the beginnings of a foul tongue. "You _know_ I can't understand a damn word you say when you start pullin' that shit! You've been sayin' I'm inconsiderate, but _you,_ oh _you_ darlin', yer the damn-"

    A kiss substituted what foreign words could not. Two flesh hands found the bearded cheeks of a tan face, cupping flushed skin in the palms of hands the same way a small boy once held all things he did not wish to break. The same way small hands once held his mother's. The same way that small boy had once held all that he loved. The same way that a grown man held someone he was afraid of losing. The kiss those hands initiated was nothing of kindness. It was confused. It was hurt. It was whispered between the soft press of skin so intimately known, and when Hanzo pulled away McCree only held him closer with closed eyes and a furrowed brow, metal hand curved around a wicked hip.

"I could not tell you until-"

"I ain't goin' anywhere."

A small smile.

A relieved laugh.

    Two lovers met in equality, no longer choked by things left unsaid. Two lovers met in relief, holding one another in arms designed only to fit in the spaces made by arched backs and tense shoulders. Heads buried within the crooks of necks, eyes shut tight. 

From above them, mother was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Heard of only, it is paradise; seen it is hell.  
> [2] Goodness is the return for goodness; evil is the return for evil.  
> A few things Genji counterattacks with are actually Buddhist proverbs, which actually have some deep meanings.
> 
> Anyhoo, if there's any mistakes let me know! I type all of these up on mobile, and they're all rough drafts, so if there are any mistakes please let me know so I can fix them. I'll probably come back to this chapter and edit it, seeing as how it's pretty rough as it is.


	6. Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Suffering increases your inner strength. Also, wishing for suffering makes the suffering disappear."_  
>  \- His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo honors a ritual once forgotten, with a little help from a friend.

    The night held no stars in its skies. It was peaceful. It was still. There were no animals to disturb the silence, the careful construct of his meditation. This tradition was something he should have let die with the rebirth of new beginnings, but he could not let go of the fruitless quest for honor that ruthlessly seized his heart.

He _needed_ this.

    Incense burned, a familiar scent so strongly associated with a younger self, of more innocent days, of a childhood stained with blood. A single feather, plucked from the body of a Sparrow, laid just beyond the rounded cap of a bent knee. Broad hands smoothed down the hakama so nearly kept. Hands were bare. The yugake [1] sat alone in the room in which its' companion, the favored bow, slept.

    Dry lips parted in solemn speech meant only to serve as a reminder so sorely _wanted,_ so awfully empty.

  
_"Akuji mi ni tomaru." [2]_  


    There is no honor here. Heavy is the _shame_ that is carried on hunched shoulders. Suffocating is the guilt so intimately woven through a damaged heart. The tendrils of smoke that dance towards the simplicity of the night seem to reach for something that they, in their infinite freedom, cannot grasp. They are grounded, just as the man who had granted them their short life.

    The sound of boots does little to shake the world in which a master's hands have crafted, but the rough give of a voice so dearly confused quakes the Earth.

"Akoojoo me-me toe _what?_ "

    Vulnerable posture immediately corrects itself into something much more guarded. The response volleyed back is much too harsh, and a touch too raw. Hanzo repeated his phrase, refusing to accommodate the other with the stone of his own visage. His English reflected his features. Unyielding. "Do not _butcher_ what you do not understand."

    Hanzo does not fully turn to eye his apparent guest, as his hands are busy with their reassigned tasks. Incense ceases to burn, the feather, replacing the other stowed away within a treasured frame, taken swiftly between the flesh of a thumb and forefinger. "It is... a saying." Graceful are the legs that push his body to stand. "It is best left untranslated." Unlike most other things, he could not share this moment with McCree. This was something sacred. It was _his._

It was Genji's.

    "Uh-huh," Jesse mulled, "the more y'say it, the more it just keeps comin' together." Hanzo's eyes narrowed at the tease, relaxed slightly with the following gift. "I brought you somethin'. Not your favorite, but I thought you might like some anyhow. Especially after today." McCree pulled a bottle of Knob Creek Bourbon from behind his back, secured at the neck with metal fingers.

    Of course. This was the first year in which the trip to Hanamura had not been taken. It was a foolish notion to have continued to entertain... Genji was still with him. But he _wasn't._ Where there had once been green hair and smiling eyes there was now a tortured mask of a younger self. Genji was so much more mature than the older Shimada had remembered. He could only imagine the rehabilitation he had thrown onto him. He could _feel_ the anger, the pain, the _hatred-_

"Hanzo?"

    "I... apologize." His brow furrowed, creasing the skin of his forehead. "I was elsewhere." He absently moved to put away his items, feather placed last and straightened carefully atop its wooden perch. "You are not smoking." The attention is shifted from him. It rolled down to sock covered feet, caressed the outside of a clothed thigh, and spread, the way loving hands always did, over the hair of a bare chest.

    "Naw," the toothpick was pulled from a grinning mouth, "ain't quittin', mind you. I'm just lookin' to get the good doctor off my case. Promise you won't go runnin' to tell 'er I'm a dirty liar?" Hanzo turned his head, feigning deep thought. His feet carried him to a dangerous pair of eyes and a threatening set of perfect white teeth. Black hair draped over a cloth back as head tilted upwards, seeking comfort in a warm embrace. "I do not wish to make a promise I cannot keep."

    "Mhmm," the chuckle was wise, "of course." Jesse obliged him with a kiss. "And I won't tell 'er about the whiskey, seein' as how we're in the runnins of a secret keepin' business." Hanzo snorted, a rude gesture, and backed away, taking the bottle with him. He swept across the space to reach his bedside table, placing the drink nearer the center, away from any edges; He often tossed in his sleep on this night. His dreams never failed to shake him. He only hoped that he did not scream, wrapped up in the arms of his lover.

The dragons startled beneath his skin.

Uneasy.

Afraid.

    "Come." He beckoned the taller man to the bed. He wished to sleep. He wished to get the night _over with._ He needed the company. He needed the _compassion._ When warm bodies settled, slotted into the spaces made for one another, one man let sleep steal him, and another reached for golden honey and a burning throat.

_"Koji ma Oshi." [3]_

    When troubled eyes finally allowed rest, Hanzo could only dream of fire. He saw twin dragons consume the only person he had ever wished to keep _whole._ The only person he had wanted to remain _pure._ He had been the one to rip from him his very _soul._ It was _his fire_ that killed their home. It was that same fire that woke him from his slumber with Dragons swimming beneath his flesh, restless. With a free hand he rubbed them, calmed them. It was when he tried to sleep a second time that he was paralyzed with his own failure.

He relived Genji's death.

_A thousand times over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Archer's glove  
> [2] All evil done clings to the body  
> [3] Good things, many devils
> 
> ^ the two quotes are Buddhist proverbs
> 
> If there are any mistakes let me know! And, if you're up to it, please spread the word about this rollercoaster of a work! I'd like to get more ideas and such of what to write. :)


	7. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was the light in their darkness, and even she had ceased to shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this in 10 minutes... I'm slackin.

__

//

_She was sick._

_She was dying._

_"Be good for your father."_

_Be good for_ her.

_Be good under the shadow of her death._

     _She was still trying to hold her children with cold hands and paper skin. Every word was a whisper that held the power of a shout. Every shout caressed the wet cheeks of weeping boys with the power of a whisper._

_It wasn't fair._

_It wasn't right._

     _She was the sun. She was the warmth on those cold days. She was sly desserts beneath the dinner table. She was hidden naps between training. She was all good things. She was all things taken for granted. She was the source of their innocence. Her basin was dry, empty. She was paper, yellowing, creasing, folding, uneven, crumpled._

     _She was the world on growing shoulders. She was heavy. The weight of her memory pinning small feet to the earth. The sorrow of her smile sapping all water from the roots of children so dearly in need of fulfillment. Her tears fell, but the water never touched the soil._

_She lived like the sun in the winter._

_Food in the famine._

_Dry land in the flood._

_A cherry blossom life._

_Never meant to last._

//

o o o 

A letter, sealed.

Unopened. Old. Untrusted.

A memory of the past.

    Father's writing scrawled across the front. Perfect in its swirling ends and elegant print. It was the only letter ever sent. Hanzo did not know how it found him, he did not know his father to send such goodness.

Today was her birthday.

Today he amused his curiosity.

For her.

A photograph, alone.

    A bright smile. Closed eyes. A white dress and bare feet. Two arms spread wide. Laughter. Companionship. Beside her a young man, smiling.

They were in love.

They were a family.

They lived for _each other._

She held their first born son in the swell of her stomach.

She held life.

She was _alive._

    Hanzo took the picture against his heart. He cradled the memory he would never know. He wondered of the compassion he'd never learned from his father. He wondered of the heart that had lain broken within his chest. He wondered of all that she had left behind. He wondered of all that wilted in the wake of her absence.

He wondered of cherry blossoms.

Lost in the wind.


	8. Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bow-chika-wow-wow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this could be a mature-ish chapter? Our heads are much dirtier than this anyways...

He was beautiful.

He was perfect.

    He was loving hands and blunt nails. He was bruising kisses and biting teeth. He was words whispered into bare skin. He was a wicked tongue and talented fingers. He was confident. He was cocky. He was practiced, experienced. He was attentive. He listened, he reacted. He was the fire over blushing cheeks.

He was hard.

He was fast.

He was deep.

He was slow.

Jesse McCree was a God in a man's eyes.

_"Fuck."_

    Hands grabbed for black silk, using their fistfull to yank a hung head backwards, exposing the column of a bruised throat. Swollen mouth was open, ragged breaths spilled over the curve of a lower lip. Eyes were shut, brows were drawn inward.

    Sweat rolled down the curves made by tight muscles, flowed into the valley of an arched back, dripped off the end of a pointed nose. The heat kept rising, kept adding to the raw desire of low groans and withheld words.

They did not need to speak.

    The desperate rock of hips communicated more than breathy syllables could have hoped. The metal that wrapped so gently around an abused throat showed their temporarily dominant state. The hand that came up to hold an artificial wrist signaled a temporary submission.

Roles would change.

Bodies would flip.

    Black hair and tattooed flesh would deny contact, would deny help of any fashion. Smooth hands would brace a shorter frame against tan skin as a dangerous smile and dilated eyes would set the pace.

Hands would meet, fingers interlaced.

Lips would meet in kisses.

Breath would be stolen.

Voices would cry into familiar skin.

_"Jesse-"_

    Nails dug into the backs of hands, movement stuttered, overwhelmed with feeling. Where one man would stop the other would pick up, riding out a high with quick thrusts and drawling curses. When both were sated, when both were comfortable with exhaustion, they laid together in stillness.

Unable to move.

Unable to separate.

They were beautiful.

_They were perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose not to go into explicit detail just yet. I feel like doing so would ruin the style in which I've been writing.
> 
> I dunno.


	10. Festive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree gets ready for Christmas. Hanzo finds out what it means to be "festive". Ugly Christmas sweaters become reality. Hanzo is not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in forever (like a year????), I've been super busy. It's close to the holidays now though, so I have more free time! Exciting!! 
> 
> Translations at the end!

"McCree, you _cannot_ force this upon me."

" _Honey,_ " a bat of brown lashes, "I ain't forcin' _nothin'_ on you."

    With an annoyed _'humph'_ does careful fingers pluck decorated cotton from the flat of a muscled stomach to better scrutinize. Whatever it was that Hanzo had _thought_ Christmas would be like with the Cowboy he had not expected... this, whatever this was. The abomination was nothing short of absurd, and the very _color_ of the fabric Jesse had decided would 'look flattering' on Hanzo's shorter frame worked quite the opposite. Green was not his color, and the decoration of kitten heads and flashing lights illuminating his front did not help either. With squinted eyes and a pursed lips did the Shimada read: "Meowry Christmas".

"This is a nightmare-"

"Oh come now, darlin', it ain't that bad."

    "Not _that bad-_ Jesse McCree, if you do not return this gift I will be forced to give it back myself!" Broad shoulders set themselves back in perfect posture, with groomed chin held high. The jolly flash of green and red danced beneath Hanzo's neck. "Now Hanzo, you know that's Indian givin', and I ain't got the receipt." Jesse turns from the man to rifle through his dresser, looking for something equally as horrific and much, _much_ brighter. It's when he pulls out his over-sized sweater that he speaks another time. "Plus," he shrugs out of his t-shirt, "I'm not lettin' you go out there alone." Bare skin is covered with something that equals the same busy design adorning Hanzo's torso. Calloused hands smooth down the red front of McCree's chest, stopping near his waistline to play with the stitched scarf adorning the neck of a Llama. Along the head of the Camelid are the words "la la la la" stitched in white, with snowflakes to match. The monstrosity reaches the tops of Jesse's knees, with the sleeves passing the thumbs on his hands.

"See?"

Hanzo, despite himself, feels the barest trace of a smile pull, incessant, at his mouth. It is hard denying a fool when it is so charming. "Now, what's that sayin' I heard you whisperin' yesterday over my sweet potato pie?" The archer cocks his head a moment, loose hair sweeping the length of his nose. He remembers shortly after, and with a roll of his eyes he mutters it again; only now it is with a greater sense of dread.

_"Seinen kasanete kitarazu." [1]_

o o o

    "Ah, friends, so happy for you to join us!" Unmistakable is the bellow from the head of the dinner table. Reinhardt had been waiting for the _second_ Holiday dinner this week alone, and he his excitement had not ceased. McCree's reply was fast, warm, "How could we miss it?" Hanzo was quick to hide as much as possible behind his partner, and quick to add: "How could they miss _us,_ dressed in such _festivity._ " He was not pleased. From their position approaching the table the Shimada was sure Genji was smiling, though he could not entirely tell, even with the signature face-plate removed. Brown eyes met brown, twin pairs speaking without words. Genji _was_ smiling. The bastard. "Brother," sparrow-song, "you are looking comfortable. Where did you receive such a large gift?" Hanzo lowers his voice, embarrassment snakes between the silk of his native tongue, _"Shoshin wasuru bekarazu." [2]_ Genji's smile takes a more visible position, the paper at his eyes crinkling, folding easily with time. "Ah, Hanzo, you are in _love._ "

The table falls silent.

    Forks and spoons freeze in hungry hands. Food is left forgotten for a more interesting topic. All heads turn to view the pair, taking moments to process their state, to assess the shield protecting Hanzo's visage and the wide grin possessing McCree's spirit. "Aw honey," the man murmurs, "that ain't-" Hanzo cuts him off with a quick _'be quiet,'_ tense against the attention received by multiple parties. It is Angela who is first to split the silence with her cheer, "What a wonderful couple!" She claps twice, and excited meeting of delicate hands, before gesturing to the empty seats across from her. "We have left two chairs open for you! Please sit!"

    McCree goes first, reaching behind to grab an unwilling hand. Hanzo does not struggle, but he does attempt to drag his feet. The group still stares, regaining life the nearer the pair come to the table. "I made your plates for you," Lena cheers, "and I made sure to add a little extra sweet potato pie on yours!" She taps the porcelain of Hanzo's dessert saucer with her tea spoon. Her smile infectious, her laughter even more so. It is when the archer sits down does he regard the table with relaxed posture and a grateful nod. The Dragons dance along his flesh, tickling the tips of his fingers, cooling as they rest again. He is thankful. He is at peace. He is loved, and in love. He is among family.

With a raise of his wine does he smile.

A rare gift.

A new beginning.

"Thank you."

o o o

    Hanzo overhears Angela from inside the room. Her voice is soft as she talks to McCree. Fabric rustles in slow movement as feet step to accommodate the space Jesse takes in his long hugs. Whispers of laughter slip beneath the door and steal inside the bed covers. They tickle Hanzo's skin. They wash him in gold. When the door opens the Cowboy comes forward, only to hesitate with the touch of a pale hand. More words, more smiles. Hanzo strains to hear. He doesn't understand the language, but he understands the glimpse of a smile, the glint of water that touches a bearded cheek. Hanzo moves to make room, moves again to fit himself beside tan skin and wild hair. He asks what was said, but the response is, again, a foreign tongue.

The tone is warm. The voice is loving.  
_Wo man Liebe sät, da wächst Freude. [3]_

Hanzo falls asleep with his head on McCree's chest.

Their hearts beating as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The prime of your life does not come twice.  
> >Meaning: You only live once
> 
> [2] We should not forget our beginner's spirit.  
> >Meaning: The excitement or humility of trying something new
> 
> [3] When you sow love, joy will grow.
> 
> Sorry if any Japanese comes out wrong or is in improper context! German is a language I am MUCH more familiar with!! Let me know if anybody wants a certain chapter theme and I'll do what I can to write it up! Thanks again for being patient and reading my word vomit!
> 
> Also, those Christmas sweaters? I bought both of them at Wal-Mart.


End file.
